


there is no timeline when it comes to this

by nicolorenaldigenovia



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Booker | Sebastien le Livre-centric, Bopley, Completed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engagement, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Joe and Booker are Best Friends, Joe and Nicky Care About Booker Very Much, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, Loss, M/M, Moving On, kaysanova
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolorenaldigenovia/pseuds/nicolorenaldigenovia
Summary: “I’m happy for you, Yusuf,” Booker says, because he means it despite the ache, and Joe smiles, nodding, and he’s smiling in a way that makes his heart hurt even more.“We love you, Booker,” Joe says because he’s just that person, before driving off as Booker makes his way up to his apartment, steps feeling like lead.He makes the point to check the mail, and he’s not even sure why. He’s never checked mail before, Joe usually did. Booker pauses then, looking at the different ads he pulled out of the box after twisting the key.So many changes already.When he finally gets to his unit, he finds someone standing at the door. They turn when he pauses, and greets him with a smile.“Hello Booker,” James Copley says, giving him a two-finger salute. “You haven’t aged a day.”***or where Booker’s best friend Yusuf moves out to be with his Nicolo, and he makes the choice to live alone for the first time in years. Booker tells himself he’ll be fine, tells everyone that he’ll be fine, even though the weight in his chest tells him otherwise. but he really has no choice. this is his life now.then James Copley comes home.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/James Copley, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 15
Kudos: 146





	there is no timeline when it comes to this

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt from bo that ran away from me!: _roommates au in which they don’t start out as roommates but when copley realizes that whenever they have like. an emotional hang sesh, book goes home and has a breakdown bc Vulnerability Hard and so he just. starts to slowly move in so book’s not on his own_
> 
> I hope you like it!

“You know, we can get a bigger house. You can live with us. Nicolo doesn’t mind.”

Booker blinks, and looks up at Joe, tilting his head slightly. “And why would you want to do that to your fiancé?” he asks.

True to his nature, the ever kind Joe just shakes his head, and leans in, kissing his forehead with a gentle squeeze at the back of his neck. Truly, he’s going to miss these moments. And to think, before meeting Joe in university, the very idea of being touched or hugged made him want to run away screaming. Now, Booker can’t help but think how much he’d miss it.

“I am not doing anything to Nicolo he doesn’t want,” Joe says, bumping their foreheads together with a smile, before pulling away and starting a new box as he packs his things.

“You’re moving in a week. There’s no way you’ll change your house choice now,” he says, and Joe just raises an eyebrow.

“Is that a bet?” he asks, and Booker snorts, putting his hands up.

“No, we are not doing this. Nicolo will _lose_ and your new home is already _closing_. Move in it, and leave me in peace.”

Booker looks at the stuff he’s packing then a number of Joe’s books that he himself have gifted him over the years. He’s already arranging them exactly how they’re meant to go on the shelves, because he already promised Nicky that he was going to fix it up for them, once everything’s been moved.

Joe shifts beside him, and he sighs, keeping his head down, eyes focused on the books.

“I can feel your pity, Joe. Stop, please,” he whispers, and he himself has to try very hard to ignore the croak in his voice.

“Sebastien, I am worried,” he hears, and Joe’s moving, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and Booker gulps. “Let me worry.”

“Don’t.”

“I still am,” Joe says, and there’s hands on his face, and Booker’s got no choice but to look into Joe’s eyes as the man squishes his cheeks together. They are grown men, and yet here they are.

“You’re lucky I love you, Yusuf,” he mutters, voice muffled by his forcibly pursed lips, and Joe just plants a hearty kiss on his cheek and pulls him close, holding him, and hugging him, and squeezing him.

“Nicolo says you’re to stay with us, on the 15th,” Joe says, after moment and Booker sighs, closing his eyes and just pressing his face on Joe’s shoulder.

“Why is your fiancé so kind of to me? I’ve given him nothing but grief,” he says, laughing weakly, as Joe just shakes with him, obviously laughing as well. Joe’s entire body shakes when he laughs, always. It’s like the happiness and glee he’s capable of must be shared to the world.

“You did give him a concussion when you first met,” Joe hums, and Booker snorts, shaking his head, wrapping his arms around Joe’s waist now, surrendering to the hug.

“I didn’t do anything. You just _had_ to gesticulate so much while reacting to my story that you smacked Nicky’s face so hard he got knocked out, and the poor guy’s only sin was walking the opposite direction on the side walk,” Booker says, pulling away and raising an eyebrow.

Joe’s cheeks flush red and remembrance. “I tried to catch him,” he mutters, and Booker snorts then.

“Except you didn’t and you fell back, and hit your head.”

“ _Well_ , my dear best friend Booker didn’t catch me when he should’ve!” Joe exclaims, again. It’s always the same, every time they talk about it. And as always, Booker shrugs and shakes his head. And gives the same answer as always.

“I wasn’t going get crushed under two morons.”

And like clockwork, Joe frowns. “My Nicolo is not a moron,” he says, and Booker, smiles, kissing Joe’s forehead, like always.

“No darling, just you. But don’t worry, he loves you anyways,” he says, laughing when Joe swats at him.

“Booker!”

“I mean, you might want to get him checked, that’s an eleven-year concussion if he wants to marry you still. You knocked him out, Yusuf—” he continues, and squawks when Joe just tackles him to the couch, a pillow to his face.

“Don’t kill me!” Booker wheezes, gasping and Joe just cackles, and smacks his face with the pillow again, laughing the whole while.

***

“You can stay with us, you know?”

“You’re sweet, Nicky,” Booker says, wrapping an arm around the man and squeezing him gently. It’s Joe and Nicky’s first night in their new home.

Which means it’s his first night living alone, ever since…

“I shall pick you up on the 15th,” Nicky whispers, and he’s pulling Booker in a proper hug, and he presses his face into his shoulder.

“I got her favourite flowers,” Booker hears him continue, and there’s tears in his eyes before he can help it.

“T—Thank you,” he says, and Nicky squeezes him tight. Booker pulls away with a gentle kiss on Nicky’s forehead.

“Look after our Yusuf, yeah?” he says, and Nicky just gives him a soft smile.

“Only if you look after yourself.”

***

The 15th of that painful month comes just like it had for the last four years, and Nicky keeps his promise.

Because in the eleven years and counting Booker’s known the man, Nicky has never broken a promise, and has never pulled a punch.

“I promised Annemarie that I will not let you pickle,” Nicky says, as they walk to their destination, Booker holding the flowers that Nicky picked out so lovingly. He snorts, even though he’s heard those words so many times before.

“She told me I wallowed in my misery,” Booker says, laughing weakly as Nicky nods, eyes ahead.

“Until you pickled in it,” he continues, before grimacing, and he adores the face on his friend, really. “And I hate pickles.”

“That’s why she made a point to tell you,” Booker whispers, glancing at his him then, and Nicky just hums, a barely there smile on his face.

“Hm, yes. Because I will not be friends with pickles,” Nicky says, moving closer to Booker without another word, and taking his hand. Booker squeezes it in response as they come to a stop.

**Annemarie Dupont**

June 15, 1987 – April 2, 2015

Booker will always smile, seeing such a blank gravestone, because Annemarie refused to have curious eyes on her after death.

“They are not important to me, I do not wish for them to linger,” she had said, just before passing, smiling at Booker with that beautiful smile of hers, even under the haze of pain.

“Joe would want to leave your portrait there,” he said, and Annemarie’s eyes widen for a moment, and then she laughed, voice airy, and weak and so beautiful. It rings in his mind at times, even years later.

“Well, they can linger for _one_ reason,” she said, after a moment, and Booker laughed. It wasn’t only him that can never say no to Joe.

He kneels, and sets the flowers in front of the stone, wiping the dew off a beautiful framed portrait of his darling fiancée, lovingly drawn by Joe in careful, purposeful strokes of charcoal. Booker shakes his head with a teary laugh.

“Happy birthday my love. I see you have a new portrait,” he whispers. The portrait changes, from time to time, but Joe never goes with him to see Annemarie. He was her friend as well, after all, so he’s allowed his own kind of grieving, in the best way he knows how.

  
Booker feels Nicky kneel beside him then. He’s quiet, like always and he doesn’t have to look to know that his friend’s eyes are close, that he’s praying. He prays enough for him and Booker, always.

When they leave, it’s with a soft goodbye, Nicky holding Booker as he cries silently all the way back to the car. When he gets to Nicky and Joe’s new home, Joe is there waiting with open arms, and they cry together. That is, until Nicky stops them, directing them to the kitchen with sure hands.

“No more pickling,” Nicky demands, and Joe snorts, wrapping an arm around Booker, who laughs, shaking his head. “I have a promise to keep, and I do not like pickles! No more, go! Set the table!” Nicky continues, and Booker throws his head back in laughter, even when he’s crying so hard, pulling Joe close to him.

“Yeah, I have not much love for pickles either,” he whispers, glad to be surrounded by his friends as he smiles, closing his eyes for a moment, and sends his love to Annemarie for blessing him that day.

***

Nicky forces Booker to stay with them for two days. Joe just grins as Booker has no choice but to do what he’s told. He hates to admit it, but it didn’t take Booker that long to realize that he cannot say no to Nicky neither. It’s both a blessing and curse, really.

Joe drives him home to their former apartment together and kisses his temple.

“You call me, whenever you need me,” Joe says, of course he does, and Booker gives him a smile.

“You know I won’t,” he says, and Booker hears him sniffle, sighing, hugging him again. He’s blessed to have Joe, really, who understands him even in the ways that he doesn’t really like.

“Please, if only to be kind to my heart,” he mutters, and Booker stops then, sighing, squeezing his best friend back.

“Yes, fine, I’ll be kind to your Nicolo, Yusuf,” he whispers, and Joe snorts then, letting go with a laugh. Booker opens the door, and closes it with a smile, waving at Joe.

There’s a pang in his chest. His life changes here.

“I’m happy for you, Yusuf,” Booker says, because he means it despite the ache, and Joe smiles, nodding, and he’s smiling in a way that makes his heart hurt even more.

“We love you, Booker,” Joe says because he’s just that person, before driving off as Booker makes his way up to his apartment, steps feeling like lead.

He makes the point to check the mail, and he’s not even sure why. He’s never checked mail before, Joe usually did. Booker pauses then, looking at the different ads he pulled out of the box after twisting the key.

So many changes already.

When he finally gets to his unit, he finds someone standing at the door. They turn when he pauses, and greets him with a smile.

“Hello Booker,” James Copley says, giving him a two-finger salute. “You haven’t aged a day.”

***

“Where’s Joe?”

Booker blinks, and laughs weakly, moving to sit beside Copley now. He had welcome Copley with a hug and made him sit in the living room, and they’ve been drinking since.

“And there’s that reminder I haven’t seen you in two years,” he says, and is glad to receive a laugh from his companion. He brings his glass up, and James meets it with his own, the sound of their respective drinks clinking together almost echoes in his apartment.

Just his now. No Joe.

“Cheers to your love,” Booker says, and Copley’s eyes soften, and he smiles.

“And to yours. It was her birthday a few days ago, right?” he asks, just as he takes a drink, and Booker smiles weakly, taking a sip of his own, watching as Copley turns away from him at a moment, so he looks down then.

“Yes.”

A moment of silence slides over them, like it seems to always comfortably do, no matter the years they’ve known each other. No matter that Copley needed to step away after his wife passed, two years ago.

“To our Annemarie and Alana,” Booker croaks out, and Copley just meets him with a quick swig and a smile that’s almost comforting and sweet. It’s unfair, how Booker’s envious of it, because he wants to smile about Annemarie without crying.

“Are you back now?” he asks, to cut the thought down, and Copley hums, nodding.

“I am,” Booker hears him say, humming softly, as he stares at his own glass. “I settled back into my home a good week ago,” he says, and he’s already sounding better than Booker ever is going to be.

“That’s really good,” he croaks out, and wonders if there’s something wrong with him. Five years he’s still struggling. God, he did let himself pickle, didn’t he? Nicky’s going to kill him and then Annemarie.

“Where’s Joe?” Copley asks again, and this time Booker looks up, and blinks at the look on Copley’s face. The man looks incredibly worried, maybe a little scared, and he feels awful.

He’s such an asshole.

“He’s fine,” he says, patting the man on the shoulder. “He’s great, actually. Got engaged, got a house. Moved in with Nicky,” he says, smiling then. “I’m really happy for them, you know?” he says, and he means it.

He truly does.

Truly.

“Then I must send my congratulations. I’m surprised it took Joe this long, really,” he says, and Booker snorts, grinning.

“He’s forever hitting himself for it. Nicky proposed, actually,” he says, taking another drink before squeezing Copley’s shoulder, before standing up to refill his drink, smiling when Copley laughs loudly, shaking his head.

“Of course. No surprises there.”

“No, not at all. Nothing’s really changed when it comes to Nicky,” he says, and Copley hums.

“So, he’s still as terrifying as ever?” he asks, and Booker grins.

“Very.”

Copley shakes his head then. “Well, be glad he’s on your side,” he says, biting his lip. Booker watches him for a moment, before turning his attention back to his task of pouring himself a drink. There’s another lull of silence that’s familiar to them.

An easy quiet, that is understood only by the grieving.

Except, this time it doesn’t feel so heavy. And Booker knows it’s not him.

“Come over and help me unpack the garage next week,” Copley says after a beat, and he pauses, looking up with a raised eyebrow. And the man just meets his gaze, giving him a soft smile.

“I thought you’ve settled?” he asks, and Copley just shrugs, turning away to stare at his bookcase, half empty now that Joe’s taken some of his books with him.

“I’ve still got things.”

***

There are things. Plenty of them.

But Booker’s pretty sure it doesn’t need to people, but he doesn’t say anything, helping Copley move things from the garage to the foyer since the man doesn’t even want him unpacking them.

They’re done in half an hour.

“Well, that was a lot of work.”

“It really wasn’t,” Booker mutters, a little confused. He looks at Copley who shrugs, grinning and motioning him to follow to the kitchen.

“Wash up for dinner,’ he says, already disappearing down the hall, and Booker follows.

“Are you ordering?” he asks, and is met with a scoff and a snort.

“Do not insult me in my own home, Sebastien,” he hears Copley, and he does sound properly miffed. “Now get washed up. I have a bottle of wine with your name on it.”

***

Dinner’s amazing. Of course it is. 

And so is the wine. And by god, they are having so much wine.

“Careful, Sebastien.”

“I am careful, James.”

James.

Yep, definitely _so much_ wine.

Brandy he can handle. Whiskey, most definitely. But wine hits him differently, no matter what kind. He never understood it, and it’s been a source of great joy and entertainment to all of his friends, because he just loses all _sense._

There’s a hand on his glass, and Booker blinks, and finds James smiling at him softly, taking his glass gently. “Let me take that for a moment?” he asks, and Booker nods, with a sigh.

“Probably a good idea,” he mutters, relinquishing his hold and throwing his head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

He feels so warm right now.

And upset.

_God why is he always upset?_

“Why am I always upset?” he whispers aloud, and yep, sense just flew out of the fucking window.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to find James staring at him with soft eyes, and he gulps.

“I’d like to go home,” he asks, voice soft, shaking his head when James shakes his head.

“You’re not going home to be upset by yourself,” he says.

“I’m not going to be alone. Yusuf’s home,” he says, automatically, and James’ hand just squeezes tight on his arm and he gulps.

Oh.

“Yusuf’s not home,” he whispers, and there’s tears. There’s tears in his eyes and down his face and _why is he so upset_?

James moves then, and takes his hand gently in his, squeezing. “Sebastien,” he says, and James’ voice is shaking and Booker shakes his head, pulling his hand away and he hates how he’s able to do it so easily. He wants to be held, but he also wants to be alone.

“I’d like to go home,” he repeats, taking a deep breath. “Please, James.”

“Give me a good reason,” James says, and Booker squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t have a reason. He’s hurting and he wants Yusuf, he wants Nicolo. He wants Annemarie. He wants to stay, but he can’t. He’s supposed to be fine. Supposed to be okay with being home by himself.

“I don’t have my toothbrush,” he mutters, after a beat, and James is silent, bless his soul. Booker looks up at him and finds him staring, nodding minutely.

“I’ll drive you, Sebastien,” he says, and Booker is thankful. He is. He wants to be home.

Alone.

“Thank you,” he croaks out, and just closes his eyes.

***

Booker doesn’t remember how he gets to his apartment, to his bed. But he awakes in it, under warm blankets, and his shoes and socks are off. He sits up in bed, running his hand through his hair with a sigh, before swinging his legs off the bed, and exiting his room.

He opens the door to Joe’s bedroom, and stops to stare at the lone bed in the middle of the room. With the sheets still on it, and it’s probably going to gather dust soon. Booker sniffles, and closes the door.

“First day,” he whispers, aloud, because he’s pathetic, and walks over to the kitchen. Then he blinks when he goes to the counter to find a sticky note right next to his phone. It’s plugged in, and charging, and Booker snorts, reading the note and laughing out loud until he cries.

_Happy first day, Booker. – James_

***

The week goes by the way Booker expects it.

With a ton of fucking calls from Joe.

“Yusuf, my love, what the _fuck_?” he says, when Booker finally answers while walking home from work, and he hears Joe yelping on the other line in shock, probably not actually expecting him to pick up.

“I told you to give him time, my heart,” he hears Nicky, and of course he’s on fucking speaker. “I told him, Booker. I promise.”

“I know Nicky. You’re my new best friend now,” Booker says automatically, and Joe whines.

“That is one thing I refuse to lose to my beloved. You are my best friend, Sebastien,” he hears Joe say, and Booker’s going to start crying again because he misses him so much, but he’s not about to admit that.

“You’re a sap,” he whispers instead, smiling when he hears both Joe and Nicky laugh together. “How’s your first week in your new home?”

“Joe fucked me against the wall of our bedroom,” Nicky says and Booker trips on the fucking sidewalk while Joe laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Nicky, _merde_ ,” he gasps, catching his bearings. “I nearly caught the fucking pavement with my face,” he continues as Joe just continues to die, Nicky humming.

“It was a good moment. I wanted to share, as your new best friend,” he says, and Booker just snorts, shaking his head, smiling when Joe stops laughing.

“Beloved, no, he is _mine_!”

“I thought you’d give me your world, darling?”

A pause, and it’s so predictable. Of course, Yusuf was going to give in to his Nicolo.

“Yes, but this is different,” Joe says instead and Booker blinks, and he clutches the phone tighter for reasons he doesn’t even understand. “He’s _mine_ ,” Joe continues and he’s so earnest and sweet and yeah, Booker’s tearing up, and he pulls away the phone to sniffle, bringing it back to his ear just in time to hear Nicky sigh.

“Fine. He’s yours then,” Nicky says softly, and Booker swears he sounds disappointed, and he can’t have that.

“You can share,” he croaks out, because he is crying. And he doesn’t care, because he’s smiling too, because his friends are the best. “I can have two best friends,” he whispers. “Right Yusuf?”

“Right,” Joe says, so quick and so sure, and Nicky chuckles.

“I’d love to share, Booker,” he says, before humming even more, and the cadence is different and Joe’s _giggling_.

“Oh no, am I going to regret this,” he whispers, and he swears he can hear Nicky grinning.

“He also rode me so sweetly on the couch, Booker,” his now best friend says in that soft, dead-pan voice of his, and Booker swears he chokes on his own tongue.

Two best friends, indeed.

***

The days aren’t really the problem. He can be easily distracted, during the day. Booker’s easy that way, if he allows himself to be and just _live_.

It’s the nights that kills his mind, and consistently reminds him that he lives alone now.

And it’s not like because Joe occupied the space at night. He spent a lot of his days with Nicky in the last year. But the man’s warmth and presence tend to stay in every room he occupies. And he’s occupied that same apartment with Booker for five years.

So, when Booker loses the privilege of having Joe’s warmth and the feel of home it brings between the four walls the moment he moves out, he _feels_ it. And it hurts.

And when he hurts, the world thinks it’s the perfect time to be cruel to him.

Because Booker dreams of Annemarie every night, and he awakes sobbing each time with her name on his lips and wishes he couldn’t feel anything at all.

It’s relentless to the point that when he closes his eyes, all he can see is her face, and he loves her, so much.

But he's so, so tired.

***

The weekend rolls around and James is at his door 10AM sharp on Saturday.

“Did we have an appointment or something?” Booker asks as he opens the door and walks away from it, dragging his feet across the floor.

“I wanted to get breakfast from that spot you like,” he hears James say behind him, and he glances back to see him setting coffees on the table, and he sighs.

How did he not even notice that the man brought him food?

“Thank you,” he whispers, walking over to the table, and sitting down, and James is just smiling at him now, sitting across from him.

“You’re welcome. How’s your week been?” he asks, tilting his head and Booker raises an eyebrow, drinking some of his coffee already, taking the man in front of him in. He looks well rested. Much more well rested than him, and it’s unfair.

“How do you do it?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

“Do what?” James asks, putting his food in front of him, and Booker shrugs.

“Live in the house you lived in with Alana,” he says, because he doesn’t’ know how to get out of the conversation. He took the dive and now he has to drown in it. He watches as James’ hands pause for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Copley,” he whispers, and James looks up at him then, shaking his head.

“No, it’s fair,” James says, voice soft and patient, and he’s even smiling at him. And there’s no pain in it, and again, he wonders how. How. How. How?!

James sits down then, and he’s staring at his food like he’s trying to understand it. But Booker knows the look, and he knows that he’s just trying to get the words out. Like how he tried to get the words out on him when he first told him that he was leaving, to deal with losing Alana in a span of three months.

He had Annemarie for two years before losing her to diagnosis, and it’s been five years since. And Booker’s still being ripped apart.

It’s hard not to compare, not to wonder, not to think of it to be unfair.

“I don’t know, Sebastien,” James whispers, looking into his eyes now and Booker takes a deep breath then, letting it out with a gasp. Like he’s drowning on dry land.

“When you figure it out,” Booker says, finally opening his food. “Share the secret, please,” he whispers, and he sees James’ face drop for a moment, before he nods.

“I’ll be here when I do, Booker,” he says, and there’s meaning in the confusion that statement brings, but Booker feels too heavy right now.

“Thank you, Copley.”

***

James gets Booker to shower, and drags him out of the house for the day. They walk in the park, they run errands.

He goes grocery shopping for the apartment for the first time since Joe moved out.

“Did Joe put you up to this?” Booker asks, walking down the aisle of toiletries. It’s their last stop, and he watches as James just turns his back, after throwing a number of stuff he apparently needed in his own home into the cart, a bright orange toothbrush catching his attention. “Copley?”

“As charismatic as your dear friend is, and as terrifying as his fiancé is, no, they did not make me go grocery shopping with you,” James says, and his voice is soft, and Booker gulps.

When the man turns around, he looks a bit put out, eyebrows furrowed in the slightest. Of course, he’s offended the man, and all he did was make sure Booker’s a functioning adult.

“Sorry,” he mutters, glancing at the cart, only looking up when James stands beside him. And he’s smiling at him.

“You’re forgiven, Booker,” James whispers. “Please believe me when I say that my only interaction with Joe was to send them a Peace Lily as an engagement gift.”

Booker smiles then. Joe adores plants. “He probably loved that a lot,” he says, and James smiles then.

“Oh, he did. Nicky even sent a thank you card,” he says with a laugh, and Booker grins then. Nicky sending a thank you is truly a sign that Joe is happy.

James moves and grabs the cart from him while he’s stuck in his thoughts and starts walking ahead. “I think we’re done here,” the man says, leaving Booker behind. “There’s enough to make you something for lunch for the whole week!”

Booker blinks.

What?

“Whole week?” he asks dumbly, legs finally moving, and James just laughs, and Booker’s jogging after him now.

“Copley!”

***

Booker makes lunch then, because there’s no way James is going to keep cooking, but the man just functions in the apartment like it’s his and re-arranges his fridge, and gets rid of the things that went bad since Joe left.

He does it with no fuss, and Booker has to pause when it hits him.

“You’re acting like I’m grieving,” he says, looking up from the pot, and turning to James whose kneeling standing by the fridge, clearly admiring his work before he meets Booker’s gaze with a tilt of the head.

“I’m helping a friend,” he replies and Booker shakes his head.

“I did this all for you, when Alana passed, just before—” he stops, looking down.

Just before he told Booker that he was leaving. And he didn’t know he was coming back. And Booker had been hurt in more ways than he could understand at the time. They had been friends, for at least three years, having met him and Alana just after Annemarie passed.

They were close. He had been the first person to find out about Alana’s diagnosis, and the one to pick up James from the hospital when she passed. Booker had done all of this for him, made sure he wasn’t alone, cooked, cleaned his place.

Stayed with him. Until Joe and Nicky got worried for him, because he had reached a turning point in his loss of Annemarie and he _was_ getting better than Alana passed, and James needed him.

Then James found out about Annemarie, and Booker can still remember the look on his face then, of how hurt he was to not have known that he had a fiancé he had lost.

“Did you not think that I’d like to know the whole of you?” James had asked him. “Pain and all?”

And Booker had looked at him and shook his head. “It was none of your concern,” he said.

Two days later, James left.

“Just before you left,” he whispers, looking back down at his cooking.

“I’m sorry I had to leave,” James whispers. “I wanted to be alone,” he continues and Booker blinks his eyes rapidly then, laughing weakly.

“You’re allowed to grieve in your own way,” he says, trying to focus on his task.

James is quiet behind him, but then he hears him moving forward, and then he’s standing beside him now.

“Booker.”

He looks up and finds James looking at him, his eyes soft and concerned. Always concerned. He sees it in Joe all the time.

“And you’re allowed to do the same,” the man says, and his hand is on his shoulder now, squeezing. Booker has to make a concerted effort not to flinch or buckle down under it.

“I—I was fine. I was starting to be when I was helping you,” he says, and he regrets it as soon as he says it outloud. “Oh _merde_ , that sounds like I’m blaming you, I’m not—”

James squeezes his shoulder again. “I know, Sebastien,” he says, even though the pain in his eyes says otherwise, and Booker takes a deep breath, looking down.

“It’s been five years,” he mutters instead. “I should be fine by now.”

“There’s no timeline when it comes to grief,” James says, voice soft. “When my Alana could still speak, she always said that to me. She told me that if I was fine the next day or the next decade, it would not matter. My love for her remains, regardless of how much time has passed.”

Booker smiles weakly, and he’s crying then, so he pulls away from the pot, and tries not to think of how seamlessly James just slides in his spot and takes over, like he just fits.

“I think I’ll love my Annemarie forever,” he admits, and James smiles then, reaching for a few things to add to the pot.

“I’m the same with my Alana,” James whispers, and then he looks at Booker then.

“I think we both understand that of each other now, right, Sebastien?” he says, and there’s so much more to it. He knows this. And he can’t be a fool, this time.

“That we know the whole of each other?” he asks, and when James smiles then, his eyes are shining but it makes sense. It makes so much sense, regardless of the pain in his chest.

“Pain and all.”

***

James spends the whole day with Booker. They end up drinking for the night.

They end up talking.

_Why did they end up talking?_

“You’re angry at me for leaving,” James says, and why did they end up talking?

Booker stares at the wine bottle in between them, and the two others that sit in a row behind it. Fucking wine. Again.

“Fuck this wine,” he mutters, before sighing, looking at James with a tilt of his head.

“I’m not angry,” Booker says, after a moment. “You were angry with me, for hiding Annemarie. I got why you left,” he admits, and it’s true. “But it still hurt like fucking hell that you did.”

Because that’s true as well. It felt like he had suffered a loss, when James left. Alana died and then James left and it’s like, yeah, everyone’s just going to leave?

“I’m sorry,” he hears James say, and Booker just hums, shrugging. Because it’s done and over now, right? He hears movement and looks up to find James sitting beside him now, and he’s taking his hand. Booker stares at it, and then looks at James.

The man’s staring at him with an expression that he can’t read and it’s frustrating. And it’s not pity, no. Understanding, maybe? Of course he gets it. Of course he gets how it’s like.

To find the love of your life, make them yours, only to lose them.

He found Annemarie. James found Alana. Joe found Nicky.

Booker freezes, and he flinches when James yelps, barely catching his glass it slips out of his fingers, splashing wine everywhere.

“Booker!” he yells, but Booker can barely hear him, eyes frantically looking for his phone, grabbing it, and frantically dialing Nicky’s number.

He gets through after one ring. “Hello?” Nicky mutters, groggily. He can already hear shuffling, and Joe asking if everything’s alright. “Go back to sleep, heart. I’ll be back,” he hears Nicky whisper, and Booker clutches the phone tighter, standing up, and walking away from the couch.

“You’re alright, right Nicky?” he asks, and there’s tears in his eyes as soon as he asks the question. “You’re not sick? You’re not ill?”

Nicky is quiet on the other line, but Booker can hear him breathing softly.

“I have a clean bill of health, Booker,” he says, after a moment, his voice soft. Of course he knows exactly what Booker’s asking, because Nicky is amazing and probably understands him just as much as Joe does. 

“Joe won’t lose me,” he adds, and Booker sobs at his words, leaning against the wall near the door. He vaguely sees James following him, sitting beside him and pulling him close.

“Are you sure? Annemarie—she was so healthy and then she—” he whimpers, and Nicky’s breath hitches then.

“Sebastien, you know we cannot know these things until they happen. But right now, I promise you, I am quite healthy,” Nicky says, and sounds so firm, that Booker feels like he’s right beside him.

“I would never lie to you, Sebastien,” Nicky adds, and Booker sobs softly.

“I don’t want Yusuf to feel my pain,” he cries out, because the idea of his best friend going through something like this kills him. And he knows that while Joe is strong, his weakness is Nicky, and everything that comes with him. “I don’t want him to hurt like me, please.”

Nicky sniffles in the other line. “I can’t promise you that, but I can promise you that I am trying my best to ensure that I’m around for him for a really long time,” he says, and Booker sobs, shaking his head.

“I don’t want him to hurt like me. I don’t want anyone to hurt like me, Nicky, please,” Booker pleads, and he feels James’ arm tighten around his shoulders, and he turns in, sobbing into his neck because he hates this. He hates thinking of Joe ever hurting like him.

“I promised to take care of Yusuf, didn’t I?” Nicky whispers, and his voice is thick, and Booker sniffles, nodding even though Nicky can’t see him.

“Yes—”

“Then he won’t hurt like you. I’ll make sure,” he says in that tone that Booker always believes, and he sighs, shivering. James presses a kiss on his forehead then, and he gulps. “Are you home, Booker?” he hears Nicky ask. “Are you safe?”

James shifts then, and the phone is taken from his hands, and he lets go, closing his eyes.

“Hi Nicky? Yeah…Yeah it’s Copley. I have him.”

***

Booker wakes up to the sound of people in his kitchen.

What?

  
What the hell happened last night?

When he’s finally able to drag himself to his bedroom door, it opens and Joe’s there, kissing his forehead, and he blinks.

“Broke into my apartment?” Booker asks, and his throat is sore, trying to look over his shoulder, as Joe just laughs, shaking his head.

“No need if I still have the key. Get ready for breakfast, go,” he says, grabbing him by the shoulders and stirring him towards the hall leading to the bathroom. “Copley’s making breakfast with Nicky.”

Booker blinks, and looks at Joe then, who shrugs. “Right? Fuck if I know. Nicky just dragged me here this morning, saying that we’re having breakfast with you. And that Copley’s waiting.”

“Did I call last night?” he asks, and Joe blinks then, still pushing him towards the bathroom.

“Maybe…I remember Nicky taking a call. Was it you?”

Booker blinks, frowning. “Not sure.” He really doesn’t. He doesn’t even remember how he got to bed really. “Was drinking,” he mutters, and Joe hums, finally stopping when they get to the bathroom, his hands on his shoulders still, squeezing.

“Well, get ready for breakfast. Nicky and I have an appointment in a few hours,” Joe says, pushing him to the sink, and Booker’s eyes flicker to an orange toothbrush that’s definitely not his, sitting beside his own. He looks up to see Joe looking at the same thing, but he just smiles, and ruffles his hair, before leaving.

Booker blinks, then frowns. “Hey Joe?” he calls, and Joe pops his head back up, and he looks at him through the mirror. “Appointment?” he asks, and Joe blinks, before nodding.

“Oh, uh yeah! Not me, it’s Nicky. He’s just doing his physical, you know, the yearly thing? Apparently, he won’t be able to do it next month, so we’re going now. But he’s like, super healthy, so it’s just precaution, you know?” he says, smiling and then Booker blinks.

Then he remembers, and swallows down the emotion that wells in his chest.

Fucking Nicky, seriously.

Booker then nods weakly at Joe, who just smiles at him, before leaving to go back to the kitchen. He closes the door after him, and goes back to the sink, staring at the bright orange toothbrush for a moment, before grabbing his.

And when he looks up at the mirror, Booker finds himself smiling.

***

Nicky calls him the Wednesday after.

“I’m all good, Booker,” is all he says as answers the phone, and Booker’s so thankful, he starts to cry.

“You and Joe are okay,” he whispers, feeling like he’s breathing out as he does, and Nicky lets out a soft sound, and he can just hear him smiling.

“I’d never break my promise to my best friend,” he hears him say and Booker laughs then, sniffling.

No. Of course Nicky never would.

***

The week that follows is the best week that Booker has had since Joe left the apartment.

So, when Saturday rolls around, and there’s a knock on his door at 10AM, he finds himself opening the door with a smile.

And James on the other side smiling back.

Because even in the haze of it all, even when the sadness overwhelms, Booker’s smart enough to recognize a turning point when it smacks him across the face.

***

Booker finds himself looking forward to it, especially when his nights get bad. Even if those nights are now slowly dissipating.

James comes to the apartment at 10AM on Saturday. And doesn’t leave until late night Sunday. And each time he does, he leaves more things behind.

To the point that after the first week, not only does Booker change the sheets on Joe’s bed, but he dusts and airs out the empty dressers. And when James shows up the following Saturday with a duffle and a smile, Booker doesn’t say a word.

Annemarie doesn’t show up in his dreams the next week, and it feels like forgiveness.

“I love you, Annemarie,” Booker whispers, just as he falls into another night of dreamless sleep.

***

It takes him a few weeks more of the same to bring up…everything.

“Why’s your toothbrush so bright?” Booker asks, as they settle on the couch after dinner on a Saturday. There’s tea on the table, and James is getting into another one of the books in his shelf.

“I like orange,” James says, without even looking up. “It’s not boring like your blue one,” he says, and Booker snorts, shaking his head.

“I think they look together just fine,” he mutters, and then he blinks, feeling his face heat up when James looks up at him then. Booker immediately looks down, grabbing at his phone, scrolling through the suit designs that Joe sent him, for their wedding. Because apparently he gets a say, not Nicky.

“Booker.”

“Nope.”

James laughs, the bastard, and just moves on the couch, grabs his phone out of his hand and replaces it with his hand. “Booker,” he says again, and Booker, shakes his head.

No. No. Nope.

“Sebastien,” James says this time, and he sighs, looking up. The man’s smiling at him, just like he has been since that first Saturday morning.

“Forget I said anything,” Booker mutters. “I don’t want to ruin a good thing,” he adds, because he’s desperate. Things have been going well. And now he’s going to ruin it with what he just said.

But James just tilts his head. Then he smiles, squeezing his hand. “It is a good thing, huh?” he says, and Booker’s breath hitches as he nods.

James grins then, and his whole face lights up. “Good,” he whispers, before biting his lip, looking down at their hands. Then he moves, and soon, both of Booker’s hands are in both of James’ and he’s squeezing them softly.

“You asked me how I could live in the house I had with my Alana,” he whispers, and Booker nods, taking a deep breath.

“I did.”

James smiles then, and he looks up at him, shrugging a little. “I didn’t really live in it,” he mutters, looking up, and it’s clear that he’s trying to find the words. “I…stayed in it? Because I felt like I needed to.”

Booker blinks then, and he finds himself squeezing James’ hands back, and smiles when James laughs weakly, his thumbs now running across his knuckles, gentle and featherlike.

“I tried to convince myself that I needed to stay in it, to show that I will forever love her, like I know I do. But then…when we talked about grieving…and I told you what she told me, how there’s no timeline? I realized it had been foolish for me to think of it that way,” he says, and he’s taking a deep breath afterwards, like it winded him.

He looks at Booker again, and he can’t help but meet his gaze this time, as James smiles. “Of course it took me coming home after two years to figure it out,” he says, and Booker gulps.

“You had to see the house again to realize?” he asks, and James laughs, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head.

“Oh Sebastien,” he whispers, and he shifts closer then, letting go of one of his hands to grab him gently by the back of the neck, leaning in, pressing their foreheads against each other. Booker’s eyes close as they touch, and he shivers.

“I had to see you again. To be reminded that there’s no timeline,” he whispers, and Booker nods then.

“In grief.”

“No, Sebastien,” he hears, and when he opens his eyes, James pulls away, smiling at him, the hand on the back of his neck tightening in the most comfortable way.

“In love,” he whispers, and there’s tears in Booker’s eyes almost immediately.

“Yeah?” he gasps out, and James grins again, nodding, and his eyes are glassy and when Booker sniffles, he feels no shame in it.

James leans in again, and this time, Booker can see him looking at his lips, before looking back up at him, and Booker holds his gaze.

“I stayed in that house, Booker,” he whispers. “But here…on the weekends. With you, here. I live. Here, with you, I feel…”

Booker gulps, and leans in to meet him, and he can feel his breath against his lips, so close, but not touching. “In love?” he whispers, and James nods, smiling.

“Yes,” he whispers, and his lips are on Booker’s as he mutters, breathing him in, alive and breathing and sweet. When he pulls away, James is smiling at him

“May I stay here, in love, with you, Sebastien?” he asks, and Booker just laughs and gives his answer in a form of a cry, and a breathless kiss, for there are no words that can ever describe what he’s feeling at the moment.

But if Booker were ever to try to get close to it, he can only ever describe it as one thing.

Home.


End file.
